


A voice in the corridor

by deathorthetoypiano



Category: The Hour
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-17
Updated: 2013-03-17
Packaged: 2017-12-05 14:41:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,248
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/724449
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deathorthetoypiano/pseuds/deathorthetoypiano
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set at the beginning of s2.</p><p>Lix hears a man's voice in the corridor that she had long pushed from her mind, but after spending an afternoon trying, she realises that not all memories can be drowned in whisky. Bel notices that something is wrong, but Lix was never one for sharing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A voice in the corridor

A voice in the corridor, and Lix felt a violent jolt in her stomach.

_No._

She paused in her typing to listen, but the only voices she could hear now were Bel, Sissy a couple of times and... was that Isaac? She stiffened, listened harder, but no, that faint rumble was not Isaac. Nor Freddie, Hector, or, in fact, anyone with any right to be walking these halls. Lix stared at the door for a moment, then reached into her desk for whisky and a glass. She knocked back a measure without feeling it, then another, before lighting a cigarette and inhaling deeply, relishing the burn. The physical discomfort was nothing compared to what she was feeling, but it was something. Anything to forget again. But it was impossible. The memories, suppressed under years of writing, of editing, of producing, of championing brilliant young journalists, of brief affairs and of more whisky than she cared to think about, refused now to be kept down, now that there was something to latch onto. The glass was filled and emptied and re-filled at a speed that, had she been thinking at all, would have alarmed even her. Between mouthfuls of whisky and smoke, she stared into space, flinching occasionally as particularly painful events resurfaced in her mind's eye.

After an hour or so, perhaps, something snapped inside her. Why here, why now, why had nobody asked her what she thought? She was suddenly desperate for answers, and stood up. Too fast, she realised, hitting her thigh on the desk as she wavered, clutching its corner, cursing him for reducing her to this.

She reached the door and emerged into the corridor, nearly colliding with Bel.

"Lix, Lix are you alright?"

"Fine, darling, absolutely fine." Bel eyed her suspiciously, but Lix ignored her. Suddenly her need for answers was less important than her need to go home. She turned on her heel, picked up her jacket and bag, and made her way down the corridor, into the lift, and out of the building. Too drunk and upset to deal with the bus, she hailed a cab and settled into the back seat, and was amazed at how quickly the driver pulled up outside her building. "Thankyou," she murmured, pressing far too much money into his hand, grateful for his speed, for his tactfulness in leaving her alone, and escaping before he could ask if she was alright. Her flat seemed cold and empty in a way that it never had before. Even the sunshine streaming through the windows didn't brighten it. Her ache at his absence was ridiculous, she told herself. He's never been here, in all the years of living in this flat, of existing perfectly well, he's never been here. She'd bought this flat long after everything that had passed between them, it was in the past and it had - mostly - stopped affecting her. Her grieving had not taken place here. And yet...

The phone rang, startling her out of her thoughts.

"Lix, don't do that." Bel's voice was chiding, with an undertone of worry. It was an incredibly familiar tone of voice, and Lix had heard it directed at almost everyone in the team, but never before had it been aimed at her. She realised that that was less to do with her being somewhat older than the rest of them, and more that she had never given her a reason to worry before now.

"I'm fine."

"You're not."

There was a long silence, and Lix stood by the window, watching a cat stalk a bird across the pavement. Suddenly she realised that Bel had said something. "Sorry, what?"

"I'm coming over." Had Bel been able to see, Lix would have made a show of rolling her eyes at her. Instead, she felt relief wash over her, even though she had been desperate to get away from her just half an hour before. She leant back against the wall, and huffed a little. Bel took this as consent. "I won't be long," she promised softly, and the line went dead. Lix put the phone down, and stared at it for a long time, before going back to the window and watching the cat again. When the doorbell rang, she startled like a deer, flattening herself against the wall for a moment before realising that it was probably Bel. She opened the door and stood back wordlessly as Bel came in, wondering vaguely how she knew which floor to come to, as she had never been before. "I asked the doorman," Bel told her, in answer to her puzzled expression, and raised a newspaper packet in her hand. "Dinner." She made herself comfortable, hanging up her coat and slipping out of her shoes, then padded around the flat, opening all the windows, and hunting down plates and forks in the kitchen. Lix leant on the doorframe, watching her, and followed her to the table. She still said nothing when Bel lit a cigarette and passed it to her, but neither did she smoke any more than the first drag, holding it as she picked unenthusiastically at her chips. Finally, Bel cracked. "Lix, what do you need?"

"To forget," she replied, so quietly that she surprised herself as much as Bel.

Bel knew better than to ask more about it, but she filled the silence, talking about anything and everything she could think of, the thrill of getting Lix to smile a little spurring her on. Her senseless chatter chased some of the darkness away, and Lix relaxed. She told her about the cat across the road that she had watched for so long that afternoon, and how she had had a cat when she was a child, a cat that she had loved more than anyone, really, except-

She stopped dead. Bel raised an eyebrow, but Lix returned to her story, avoiding the uncomfortable bits, telling her about how she had returned from school one day to find the kitten curled up on her bed, and how it was the most affectionate thing her father – so absent from her day-to-day life, and often disinterested in his daughter – had ever done. It wasn't until later that she has calmed down enough to ask casually, "Who were you talking to in the corridor today? At about 2 o'clock?"

"The new head of news," Bel told her, not even attempting to keep the bemused tone from her voice. "Why?"

Lix ignored her question. "What's his name?" she asked.

"Randall Brown."

Lix did not seem to react. She said nothing. It was as though she had expected it. Instead, she moved to the armchair by the window, curling into up and tucking her knees close. Bel frowned, just a little, and moved to the sofa, watching her but saying nothing, letting her calm down. Eventually, Lix reached for the whisky, poured them both a sizeable glass, and began to talk, telling stories about her time in Spain, about the people she had met, the things she had seen, the adventures she had had. Bel figured that this probably had something to do with Randall Brown, but did not interrupt. Instead, she laughed in all the right places and asked gentle questions to encourage her, and, for once, Lix was happy to oblige. Some of these memories were among her happiest, and she had never felt so alive. As the sunshine faded into warm twilight, she showed her the scar on her side, under her ribs, where a bullet had grazed her. Bel knelt by her feet to look more closely, her fingers tracing it in a mixture of horror and wonder, and she looked up at her with such an adorable expression of curiosity that Lix wanted to wrap her arms around her, to hold her tight and never let go. "Did it hurt terribly?" she asked softly.

"Not when it happened. The healing was worse. I was so bored. Oh darling, don't look so worried. I've been in worse pain."

"Worse than being shot?" Bel asked incredulously.

Lix made a low sound in her throat, but anything she might have said was cut short by the gasp she let out as Bel's nail, still stroking over her skin, snagged slightly on a bump in the scar, and she flinched a little. Bel pulled away, apologising, but Lix caught her by the hand. "It's alright," she told her. "Just surprised." The next thing she knew, Bel was kissing it softly, as if to repair the hurt. They stared at each other for a long time, before Bel pulled away and went to the window, lighting a cigarette. Lix tried to catch her hand again, but the moment was gone. Lix watched her with interest, silhouetted in the faint light from the street, and tried to force down the lump of glass in her throat.

Bel sighed, her whole body sagging as she exhaled. "I just wish you'd tell me what's wrong," she whispered, the words catching in her throat. "I don't know how to fix you."

"It's long healed, darling," Lix told her, but they both knew that Bel wasn't talking about the scar. Bel finished her cigarette, and returned to the sofa, curling her feet under her. They returned to safe ground, chatter about people they worked with, things they had seen, Bel's parents, Lix's privileged but dysfunctional family. Safe, distant things. Lix was unsure which of them had decided it, but they put away the whisky and drank tea instead, and Lix knew it was for the best.

"Come on," Bel said softly, when it was so dark that they could hardly see. "You need to go to bed."

"Sleep is for the weak, darling," Lix proclaimed, with a wave of her hand that reminded Bel of the woman who usually stalked the halls of Lime Grove, not this heartbroken shadow of a person. But she got up anyway, flexing her legs a little before allowing Bel to lead her to bed, even to tuck her in a little, smiled as Bel turned away while she undressed, and she watched as Bel then tidied up around her. "Thankyou," she whispered, then, suddenly filled with an urge to offer some kind of explanation, "I can't tell you what's wrong. If I tell you, you'll know what I did, and I don't want to know what you'd think of me then."

Bel turned in the doorway, tilted her head and looked at her for a long time, then moved to Lix's side and leant over, pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead. "Sleep tight," she whispered, although she doubted that either of them would, and padded back out to the sofa, leaving the door open behind her. It wasn't long before the silence gave way to whimpers, frightened little sounds that Bel would have never believed Lix could make. She curled up tighter on the sofa, hoping that Lix's bad dreams would subside. She didn't want to intrude or wake her, but when the whimpers gave way to a howl of pain, she couldn't stop herself. Dropping to her knees beside the bed, she stroked Lix's hair and whispered to her until she calmed down, and waited until she was sleeping peacefully before retreating again.

Morning arrived slowly, even with these short summer nights, and Bel was relieved when there was at least enough light to read by, browsing the shelves of books before selecting something she had read before. She had barely sat down again when Lix appeared in the doorway, a man's shirt hanging loosely from her frame. "Hello," she purred, and they both noticed how gravelly her voice sounded. Lix put it down to too much whisky and not enough sleep, even though she felt more rested than she had in months. "I hope I didn't disturb you," she continued, making tea with exaggerated attention so as to avoid making eye contact. She remembered, remembered the terrible dreams that were really just memories, Randall scattered through them, those long months after she had left Sophia, explosions, dancing, kidnappings, deaths of colleagues. She remembered waking up, terrified and heartbroken, and hearing Bel's voice soothing her with gentle nothings, felt the tug as she stroked her hair. But she hadn't let her know then that she was awake, and she had no intention now of admitting to Bel just how safe her presence had made her feel. "I talk in my sleep sometimes." Bel paused before assuring her that no, she had been quiet as a lamb, and that the sofa was quite comfortable. There was a pause as the lies settled between them. Lix lit a cigarette and handed it to Bel, then lit another for herself. They stood at the window in silence, until the tea was finished and the cigarettes long burnt-down. "We should go to work," Lix suggested. Bel made a non-committal noise in her throat. "Or not?" Lix suggested, raising an eyebrow.

"No, you're right, we should. Let's get breakfast on the way in. We can get loads done before anyone else gets there."

Lix smiled, got dressed and let Bel borrow her makeup, tidied the flat briefly, and led the way to the bus stop. They stood in the sunshine, enjoying the early morning quiet.

"I lied about the sofa," Bel admitted after a while.

Lix laughed, leaning back against the wall and closing her eyes against the sunshine. "I know you did, darling. Everybody does."


End file.
